


Unexpected Sentiment

by flawedamythyst



Series: S3 Episode Codas [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:20:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SPOILERS. The Sign Of Three episode coda. Sequel to my Empty Hearse fic coda, Unexpected Consequences.</p><p>Stamford stayed home and got drunk rather than go to John's wedding.</p><p> </p><p>Betaed by Earlgreytea68. Thanks so much! Written pretty quickly, though, so any errors that remain are my fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected Sentiment

It should have been perfect. No, no, more than that: it _was_ perfect there for a bit. And then Sherlock bloody faked his death and John found a woman – a woman! Who was he kidding? - and it all fell apart.

Mike took another gulp of whisky. God, he’d been so excited when the wedding invite arrived, right up until he read the second name on it. A woman’s name where it should have been Sherlock’s. Not that Mike had ever really imagined Sherlock as the wedding type, but if John was to have one, then it should have been with Sherlock. Mike had been there when they’d met, he’d seen the looks they’d given each other. Sherlock had even winked! They were _perfect_.

He picked up the bottle and poured himself another glass.

Amelia cleared her throat. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“The best damn match I ever made,” said Mike. “And he’s marrying a _woman_.”

“I thought we were the best match you ever made,” said Amelia with a hint of steel in her voice.

Oh crap, quick, abort abort abort. “I can hardly say to have matchmade us when it was obviously fate that threw us together,” he said.

She gave a hum that said _I know that’s bollocks, but I’m letting it go. For now. Don’t test me._

He gave her his best attempt at a smile, but then his eye fell on the wedding invite again, and he let out a groan. “How did this go so wrong?”

Amelia sighed. “Probably about the time one of them decided to spend two years being dead.”

Mike made a disgusted sound and drank more whisky.

The doorbell rang. They both paused, then frowned at each other. Who the hell could that be, at this time of night?

Amelia got up to answer it and Mike hoped it wasn’t someone looking for his medical skills. He was far too drunk for that.

“I need to speak to Stamford,” said an imperious voice, and Mike groaned. Oh god, what the hell was he doing here?

A moment later, Sherlock swept into the room, fixed Mike with a glare, and then collapsed into Amelia’s chair. “You lied to John,” he announced.

Given that Mike had told John he was going to be in Norwich at his niece’s christening, that much was obvious.

Amelia had followed Sherlock in and was now hovering in the doorway, frowning slightly at having lost her seat. “Would you like any tea, Sherlock?” she asked in a tone of voice that was clearly an attempt to get Sherlock to realise how rude he was being. Mike could have told her that was a waste of effort.

“No, thank you, Stamford’s wife,” said Sherlock, not bothering to look at her. “I ate and drank a ludicrous amount at the wedding. I think I’ll be fine for the next week, at least.”

“That’s not how it works,” said Mike, tiredly. He’d given up telling Sherlock what Amelia’s name was about five years ago, but he could see that it still grated Amelia’s nerves.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” said Amelia, directing a look that said _get rid of him quickly_ at Mike before she disappeared.

Sherlock leaned forward in his chair. “So,” he said. “Instead of being in Norwich, you’re sitting at home getting drunk.”

“And apparently, instead of being at John’s reception, you’re harassing the non-attendees,” said Mike. “Was the disco a bit shit? They usually are, at weddings.”

Sherlock waved a hand. “Wouldn’t know, that was my first one.”

“I’m impressed you made it at all, to be honest,” said Mike.

Sherlock’s face shuttered over. “It seemed to be expected,” he said. “And John- he asked me to be his best man.”

He sounded almost awed by that, which didn’t make sense.

“Well, yeah. You’re his best friend,” said Mike.

Sherlock glared at him. “Did everyone know except me?” he muttered. “That is beside the point, however. I’m here to find out why you lied to John. Do you really hate discos that much?”

Ah. Awkward. Mike searched for some reason that Sherlock might accept.

“And you’re drinking,” said Sherlock, his eyes falling on the whisky bottle. “Spirits, and a lot of them. Not very usual for you – you tend to stop after three pints when you and John go to the pub. You’ve got the invite out, and-” Sherlock’s hand flicked out and he picked up the invite, examining it closely, “at some point it’s been crumpled. You’re unhappy about this wedding – why? The usual reasons for people to be unhappy about a marriage are jealousy, but you’re slavishly devoted to your own wife, or because they think it’s a bad match. Only an idiot would think John and Mary weren’t perfectly suited, so what on earth can you be upset about?”

Mike sighed. “I don’t really know Mary,” he said. “I haven’t seen her and John together much, so I don’t know how well suited they are.”

Sherlock frowned. “You think he should be staying single? So you can continue to have pub nights – no, stupid, you have those despite a wife, no reason John wouldn’t. What, then?” He leaned forward and fixed Mike with an intense gaze. “What?!”

Mike downed the rest of his drink. He’d have to tell Sherlock, or he’d have a consulting detective following him around asking why for the next three months. “I just thought he should be marrying someone else, is all.”

Sherlock’s frown deepened. “Someone else? But who? John’s previous girlfriends were all insipid and ultimately made him unhappy, who do you think John would be happier with than Mar-” He stopped and let out a long breath. “Ah.”

He sat back, slumping against the chair as if solving the mystery had sucked all the energy out of his limbs. “Well, yes. I suppose you have a point. However, as I made it to the wedding – and made a speech as well, a very good one, although I will admit to getting a bit sidetracked in the middle – I fail to see why you should be at home with the whisky.”

“Well, I was wrong, wasn’t I?” Mike said. “I know you hate being wrong too, you’ll understand that.”

“Wrong?” asked Sherlock.

Mike nodded. “I- well, okay, it’s probably rather stupid, but I’ve always been a bit of a matchmaker, yeah? Introducing the right two friends, putting my students into pairs based on compatibility, that kind of thing. And I’m good at it, too. Ask Amelia about my success rate, she’ll back me up.”

Sherlock frowned. “Who’s Ameli-”

“My wife,” interrupted Mike through gritted teeth.

“Oh,” said Sherlock. “I thought she was called Laura. Or Beth.”

Mike pushed his glasses up to rub at his eyes. “The point is,” he said, “I thought you and John were it. Perfect for each other. I thought I’d managed the best bit of matchmaking I’d ever do. And now he’s married to a _woman_.”

“You must have known he was straight,” said Sherlock. “He makes sure to tell everyone.”

Mike waved that away. “He doesn’t look at you like a straight man would.”

There was a pause. “No,” agreed Sherlock in a low voice. He was staring down at his hands with a fixed look on his face and Mike suddenly felt bad. Here he was, whining about how he’d got a match up wrong when Sherlock was the one who’d been left on the outside.

There was silence for a long time as Mike tried to work out what he could say that wouldn’t end up with Sherlock either closing up entirely, or jumping down his throat.

“Best friends is something, though,” he tried after a while.

Sherlock let out a bitter laugh that sounded more like a sob. “Oh yes,” he agreed. “Not something I ever expected, you know. I don’t do friends. Or I didn’t. Apparently I now have enough for a criminal mastermind to use them against me.”

Well, that was cheery. Mike cast around for a response and settled for holding the whisky bottle up with a raised eyebrow.

Sherlock shook his head. “It appears I’m not particularly good at alcohol,” he said. “After all the champagne, I’d better not. Sleeping on the stairs does nasty things to my back.”

That sounded like a story. Mike really hoped he got to hear it one day, but he had a feeling that now wasn’t the moment to ask.

Sherlock looked down again, his eye caught on the wedding invite. Another silent minute passed.

“He knows he’s not entirely straight as well,” Sherlock said eventually.

Mike felt his eyes widen. He’d assumed the stumbling block had been John’s denial.

“He-” Sherlock stopped and huffed out a little laugh. “I’m not meant to tell anyone this, but he refuses to acknowledge it happened, and I- I need someone else to know. Otherwise it’s just trapped between us.”

“Know what?” asked Mike carefully.

Sherlock was quiet again, and then said. “He told me he loved me. That he was in love with me, I should say, it’s more than just love between best friends. And we- we kissed.” His voice faded away to almost nothing on the last word.

“When was this?” asked Mike, his brain whirring.

“A few months ago,” said Sherlock. “Not long after I came back. The timing was appalling though, and when things settled a bit, he’d decided that Mary was the better choice for him.”

“God, Sherlock,” said Mike. “I’m so sorry.”

Sherlock shook his head. “No, it’s fine. He was probably right. And, after all, this way he gets both of us. A wife and a best friend.”

“Hardly fair on you, though,” said Mike.

Sherlock pressed his lips together. “Some would say that letting him think I was dead for two years wasn’t fair on him. Besides, it’s – I’m not particularly good at friendship. I can imagine that something more would be even trickier. Better not to risk it.”

There was something bleak in his voice though, and Mike thought that he was merely repeating things he had been trying to convince himself of for months.

Sherlock let out a long breath, then glanced up at the time. “I should go,” he said. “Your wife will want to have you back to herself.”

He stood up and Mike followed his movement. “You’re welcome to stay,” he said, even though he knew Amelia was probably already fuming.

Sherlock shook his head. “No, I’ve got- you know, things to do.”

 _Lost chances to mourn_ , thought Mike.

“Well, my door is always open,” he said, unable to help himself even as he could imagine the look on Amelia’s face at that. “Any time you want to drop in.”

“Of course,” said Sherlock in the falsely friendly tone that meant _not a chance in hell._ “I’ll see you around.”

He turned to go, but paused in the sitting room doorway. He glanced back. “You shouldn’t think of it as a failure, you know,” he said. “Meeting John was the greatest thing that ever happened to me, regardless of who he is married to.” He paused as if considering saying something else, then gave a dip of his head and was gone.

Mike let out a long breath and sank back down into his seat. Bloody hell.

The front door shut and Amelia came back into the room. “What was all that about?” she asked.

Mike just shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think perhaps Sherlock Holmes has finally understood the point of sentiment.”


End file.
